An hour after my conversation with Odile, Sperver and I were galloping hard over the plain from Nideck. The huntsman, bending over his horse's neck, set spurs to her from time to time, and the tall Mecklenberg, with flying mane and foaming lips, literally cleaved the air in her flight. As for my mount, I believe he took the bit in his teeth, and ran away with me. LieverlÉ accompanied us, bounding along beside us like an arrow. We seemed to be borne along on the wings of the wind.

The towers of Nideck were far behind us, and Sperver was leading the way, as usual, when I shouted to him:

"Hallo, comrade! Pull up! Before we go any further, let us deliberate a little."

He wheeled about.

"Only tell me, Gaston, is it to right or left?"

"No, no! Come here. You must first know why I have started off this morning. In a word, we are going to catch the hag!"

An expression of supreme satisfaction lighted up the long, bronzed face of the old steward; his eyes sparkled.

"Ha, ha!" he exclaimed; "I knew it would come to that sooner or later."

With a movement of his shoulder, he slipped his rifle into his hand. This significant movement opened my eyes.

"One moment, Sperver. We are not going to kill the Black Plague; we are going to take her alive."

"Alive!"

"Precisely; and to spare you future regrets, I warn you that the destiny of the old creature is identified with our master's. The ball that strikes her down kills the Count."

Sperver sat open-mouthed with amazement.

"Is this really so?"

"Positively."

There was a long silence; our horses tossing their heads at each other as if in salute, pawed the snow impatiently. LieverlÉ yawned expectantly and stretched out his long, snake-like body, and Sperver sat motionless, with his hand resting on his rifle.

"Well, then, we will try to take her living," he said at length; "we will handle her with kid gloves, since it must needs be so; but it is not such an easy matter as you think, Gaston."

Pointing with his extended hand to the mountains which lay unrolled about us in the form of a great amphitheatre, he added:

"You see before us the Altenberg, the Birkenwald, the Schneeberg, the Oxenhorn, the Rhethal, and the Behrenkopf, and if we were up a little higher, we could see fifty other peaks, extending clear into the plain of the Palatinate. Within this distance are rocks, ravines, defiles, torrents, and endless forests, and the old woman wanders everywhere through this wilderness. She has a sure foot and a good eye, and can scent you a good league away; so you see we shall have a pretty chase before us."

"If it were an easy thing to do, I shouldn't have chosen you out of all the people of the Castle."

"That sounds all very well. Still, if we can once get on her trail, I don't deny that with courage and patience—"

"As for her trail, don't worry about that; I will put you on it myself."

"You?"

"Exactly."

"You, able to follow up a trail?"

"Why not?"

"Ah, well, since you are so confident and know so much more about it than I do, that's another thing; go ahead. I'll follow."

It was easy to see that the old huntsman was vexed at my venturing to encroach upon his particular field of operations. Therefore, laughing inwardly, I waited for no second invitation and turned to the left, sure of coming upon the traces of the old woman, who, after having left the Count in the subterranean passage, must have recrossed the plain to gain the mountain.

Sperver followed on behind me whistling with assumed indifference, and I could hear him muttering:

"The idea of looking for the she-wolf's tracks in the middle of the plain. Any one should know that she would follow along the edge of the forest, as she always does; but it seems she walks about now with her hands in her pockets, like a well-to-do citizen of TÜbingen."

I turned a deaf ear to all this, and kept on my way. Suddenly he gave an exclamation of surprise, and looking at me sharply:

"Gaston," he said, "you know more than you are willing to admit."

"How do you mean, Gideon?"

"The track that it would have taken me a week to find, you have got at once. There is something behind this."

"Where do you see it, then?"

"Come, don't pretend to be looking at your feet," and pointing to a scarcely perceptible white streak at some distance ahead of us, he said:

"There it is."

He started off at a gallop. I followed him, and a moment later we leaped from our saddles. It was indeed the Black Plague's track.

"I should like to know," said Sperver, folding his arms, "how the devil that trace came to be here!"

"Don't let that trouble you."

"You're right, Gaston. Don't mind what I say. I talk nonsense sometimes. The principal thing now is to find out where this track leads."

The huntsman knelt on the snow. I was all ears, he all attention.

"It is a fresh track," he said at the first glance; "last night's. As I thought, Gaston, during the Count's last attack the hag was prowling about the Castle."

Then examining it more carefully:

"She passed here at about four o'clock this morning."

"How do you know that?"

"The track is fresh, but there is sleet around it. Last night at twelve o'clock I went out to lock the doors, and sleet was falling then; there is none on this footprint, and therefore it must have been made since then."

"That is true, Sperver; but it may have been made later, at nine or ten o'clock for instance."

"No; look! It is covered with frost. There is no mist to freeze except at daybreak; the old woman passed here after the sleet and before the frost; that is to say, between three and four this morning."

I was astonished at the accuracy of Sperver's reasoning. He got up, slapping his hands together to shake off the snow, and looking at me thoughtfully, he added, as if speaking to himself:

"Let us call it, at the latest, five o'clock! It is now twelve, isn't it?"

"Quarter to twelve."

"Very good; the hag has seven hours' start of us. We must follow her step by step wherever she may lead us. On horseback we can come up with her in from one hour to two, and if she is still moving, by seven or eight this evening she ought to be in our clutches. Come on, Gaston; there is no time to lose!"

We started on again, following the traces which led us straight towards the mountain. As we galloped along, Sperver called out:

"If good luck would have it that this cursed Plague had gone into a hole in the rocks somewhere to lie down for an hour or two, we might catch her before nightfall."

"Let's hope so, Gideon."

"Don't fool yourself that way. The old she-wolf is always moving; she never grows tired; she roams through all the hollow roads of the Black Forest. We mustn't indulge vain hopes. If she should happen to have stopped somewhere along the road, so much the better for us, and if she is still going, we have no reason to be discouraged. Come! hurry along!"

It was a strange occupation; that of a man engaged in hunting down one of his own kind; for, after all, this unfortunate woman was a fellow creature, endowed like us with an immortal soul, and feeling, thinking, and reflecting like ourselves. It is true that perverted instincts had brought her near the level of the wolf, and that some great mystery overhung her destiny. Her prowling life had doubtless obliterated her moral being, and even effaced her human character; but granted all this, it is, nevertheless, an incontrovertible truth that nothing in God's universe gave us the right to exercise over her the despotism of man over the brute creation.

Notwithstanding, a savage ardor hurried us on in pursuit; for my part, my blood boiled, and I was determined to stop at nothing which would enable me to get this strange being into my power. The wide waste of snow flew past us, and the fragments of crust, thrown up by our horses' hoofs, whizzed past our ears.

Sperver, sometimes with his head thrown back, and his long mustache blowing in the wind, and always with his gray eye on the trail, reminded me of the famous horsemen of the steppes, whom I had seen passing through Germany in my childhood; his tall, sinewy horse, with full mane and body tapering like a greyhound's, completed the illusion. LieverlÉ, in his enthusiasm, bounded sometimes as high as our horses' backs, and I could not help trembling at the thought that, should he come upon the Black Plague, he might tear her to pieces before we could make a movement to prevent him.

The old woman led us a terrible chase; on every hill she had doubled, and at every hillock we found a false scent.

"It is easy enough along here," said Sperver, "for you can see a long distance ahead, but when we get into the woods, it will be another matter; we shall have to keep our eyes open there. Do you see how the cursed beast has confused her tracks? There she has amused herself sweeping the trail, and from that rising ground that is exposed to the wind she has slipped down to the stream and crept through the cresses to reach the thicket yonder. If it weren't for these two foot-prints, she would have tricked us completely."

We had just reached the border of a fir forest. In these forests, the snow never penetrates between the branches of a tree. It was a difficult way. Sperver dismounted to watch the tracks closer, and placed me on the left, that my shadow might not come between him and the ground. There were large open spots covered with dead leaves and pine-needles, which take no imprint. Thus it was only in the unsheltered places, where the snow lay on the ground, that Sperver could recover the trail.

It took us an hour to get through this patch of woods. The old poacher gnawed his mustache with vexation, and his long nose almost touched his chin. When I tried to speak, he interrupted me shortly, crying:

"Don't talk; it bothers me!"

At last we descended into a valley to the left, and Gideon, pointing to the she-wolf's steps, running parallel with the edge of the undergrowth, remarked:

"This is no false sortie; we can follow it confidently.

"How do you know?"

"Because the Black Plague has a habit, whenever she doubles on her tracks, of going three steps to one side, then, retracing them, taking four, five or six in the other direction, and finally jumping into a clear space. But when she thinks she has covered the trail, she strikes out without troubling herself about false scents. Look! what did I tell you? She is burrowing now into the brushwood like a wild boar; it will be easy enough to follow her here. So much for that; and now, let's keep the tracks between us and light a pipe!"

We halted, and the good fellow, whose face was beginning to brighten up, looked at me with enthusiasm, crying:

"Gaston, this promises to be one of the finest days in my life. If we take the old creature, I will fasten her to the saddle behind me like a bundle of old rags. Only one thing troubles me."

"What's that?"

"Having forgot my horn. I should like to have sounded the return as we were approaching Nideck. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

He lighted his stub of a pipe, and we started on again. The track of the she-wolf now led up a wooded slope so steep that we were obliged many times to dismount and lead our horses by the bridle.

"There it goes to the right," said Sperver; "in this direction the mountains go up like the side of a house. One of us may have to lead both horses while the other scrambles along after the trail, and as the devil will have it, it's getting so dark we can't see anything much longer."

The landscape was at this point assuming a grander aspect. Enormous boulders, covered with icicles, raised one beyond another their angular peaks, like breakers in a sea of snow.

There is nothing that imparts a more melancholy sense to the beholder than a winter scene among these mountains. The irregular line of crests, the dark ravines, the denuded trees and bushes sparkling with a tracery of hoar frost, all assume before your eyes a look of indescribable desolation and still sadness; and the silence, so profound that you can hear a dead leaf rustle on the snow-crust, or a pine-needle swirl from its branch,—this silence oppresses you; it forces upon you the realization of man's littleness in the scale of Nature's vast economy.

Sometimes we felt a need of speaking, if only to break the stillness:

"Ah, we are getting nearer the end of this business! How beastly cold it is! LieverlÉ, what have you got there?" or some like insignificant phrase.

Unfortunately, our horses were beginning to tire; they sank up to their bellies in the snow, and no longer whinnied as they did on setting out. The inextricable defiles of the Black Forest stretched out indefinitely. The old woman loved these solitudes; here she had passed around a deserted charcoal-burner's hut; further on she had torn up the tender roots which overspread the surface of the rocks; and here again she had sat down at the foot of a tree to rest, and that recently,—at most two hours before, for the marks in the snow were fresh. At sight of this, our hopes and enthusiasm were redoubled; but the daylight was fast fading out. Strangely enough, ever since our departure from Nideck, we had met neither woodcutters, charcoal-burners, nor log-haulers; the solitude was as complete as in the Siberian steppes. At five o'clock the night had so far closed in that Sperver halted and said to me:

"Gaston, we have started a couple of hours too late. The Plague has got too long a start of us. In ten minutes the woods will be as dark as an oven. Our best plan will be to reach the Roche Creuse, twenty minutes from here, light a good fire, and eat our provisions and empty our goat-skins. When the moon comes up we will take up the trail again, and if the old hag is not the devil himself, ten to one we shall come upon her frozen stiff at the foot of some tree, for no human creature could live through such a tramp in such weather as this. Sebalt himself, who is the best walker in all the Black Forest, could not have stood it. What do you say, my boy?"

"I should be mad to think otherwise, and, moreover, I am perishing with hunger!"

"Well, let's be off!"

He took the lead, and we pressed into a narrow gorge between two walls of precipitous rock. The fir-trees formed an arch above our heads; beneath our feet trickled what the frost had left of a mighty torrent, and from time to time a wandering ray penetrated the obscurity, and reflected the dull, lead-colored ice mantle. The darkness had become such that I deemed it wise to let my bridle fall on the horse's neck. The steps of our horses on the slippery pebbles reËchoed with an odd noise like the laughing and chattering of monkeys through the narrow glen. The rocks took up and repeated every sound, and in the distance a blue point seemed to grow as we advanced. It was the outlet of the gorge.

"Gaston," said Sperver, "we are now in the bed of the Tunkelbach. It is the wildest pass in all the Black Forest, and it terminates in a cave called La Marmite du Grand Guelard. In the spring, when the snow is melting, the Tunkelbach pours all its torrents into it to a depth of two hundred feet. It makes a tremendous roar; the waters leap over the edge, and their spray falls upon the neighboring mountains. Sometimes they even flood the cavern of the Roche Creuse, but just now it must be as dry as a powder-flask, and we can build a big fire there."

As I listened to Sperver's observations, I was at the same time considering this ominous defile, and reflecting that the instinct of the savage beasts, which seek such retreats far from the light of day and from all that gladdens the soul, must be akin to remorse. The creatures that live in the sunshine,—the goat on the open crag, the horse running free on the plain, the dog frisking about his master, the bird basking in the sunshine,—all breathe in joy and happiness with their gambols and their songs. The kid, browsing in the shade of the great trees on the green hillside, is as poetic an object as the retreat that he prefers; the wild boar, as fierce and savage as the trackless brakes through which he roams; the eagle as proud and lofty as the towering peaks where he rests in his sweeping flight; the lion as majestic as the mighty arches of his den,—but the wolf, the fox, and the ferret seek the darkness, with fear their only companion; aye, this instinct is closely related to remorse.

I was still reflecting upon these things and already felt the keen air blowing against my face—for we were approaching the opening of the gorge—when suddenly we perceived a reddish reflection dancing upon the rock a hundred feet above us, turning to purple the dark green of the firs, and making the frost wreaths on the tree trunks glitter.

"Ha!" whispered Sperver hoarsely, "we've got the witch!"

My heart leaped; we moved along pressed close against each other. The dog growled warningly.

"Can't she escape us?"

"No; she is caught like a rat in a trap. La Marmite du Grand Guelard has but one outlet, and we are barring it. Everywhere else the rocks rise sheer two hundred feet. Ha! you Satan's hag, I've got you!"

He sprang from his horse into the ice-cold water of the Tunkelbach, handing me his bridle. I shivered. The click of his rifle as he cocked it sounded with fearful distinctness, and the sound sent a nervous wave clear to my finger-tips.

"Sperver, what are you doing?"

"Never fear; it is only to frighten her."

"Very good; but no blood! Remember what I have already told you. The ball that strikes the Plague kills the Count!"

"Rest easy on that score!"

He moved forward, without stopping further to listen to me. I could hear the splash of his feet in the water; then I saw his tall figure appear at the outlet of the glen, black against the bluish background. He stood full five minutes motionless. Meanwhile, I was slowly approaching him, and when he at last turned around, I was within three paces of him.

"Sh!" he said mysteriously; "look there!"

At the end of the open gorge, now revealed to us, which was dug out like a quarry in the mountainside, I saw a bright fire unrolling its golden spires before the mouth of a cave, and in front of the fire sat a man with his hands clasped about his knees, whom I recognized by his clothing as the Baron Zimmer. He sat motionless, with his eyes fixed on the fire, and seemed lost in thought. Behind him a dark form lay stretched upon the ground, and further in the distance, his horse, half lost in the shadows, gazed upon us with fixed eyes, ears pricked up, and distended nostrils.

I stood stupefied. How came the Baron Zimmer to be in this dense, terrifying wilderness at such an hour and such a time,—what was he doing here? Had he lost his way? The most contradictory conjectures succeeded each other in my brain, and I knew not where to pause, when the Baron's horse began to neigh. At the sound, the master raised his head:

"Well, Rappel, what now?"

Then, in his turn, he gazed in our direction, straining his eyes to make us out in the darkness. That pale face, with its clear-cut features, delicate lips, and heavy black eyebrows, gathered in a frown, would have struck me with admiration under any other circumstances, but now an indefinable feeling of apprehension took possession of me, and I was filled with vague anxiety. Suddenly, the young man cried:

"Who goes there?"

"I, monsieur," replied Sperver quickly, at the same time advancing towards him; "I, Sperver, steward of the Count of Nideck!"

A strange expression passed across the Baron's features, but not a muscle of his face quivered. He rose to his feet, gathering the folds of his cloak more closely about him. I drew towards me the horses and the hound, who suddenly began to howl as he had done on the night of my arrival at the Castle.

Who of us is not subject in some degree to superstitious fears? At the sound of LieverlÉ's menacing growls, I felt a dread of I know not what, and I shuddered instinctively. Sperver and the Baron stood at a distance of fifty yards from each other; the first immovable in the middle of the gorge, with his rifle resting against his shoulder; the other, standing erect before the entrance of the cave, holding his head high, and surveying us with a haughty glance.

"What do you want here?" he asked defiantly.

"We are looking for a woman," replied the huntsman; "a woman who comes each year prowling about the Castle of Nideck, and we have orders to seize her."

"Has she robbed?"

"No."

"Has she committed murder?"

"No, monsieur."

"Then what do you want of her? What right have you to pursue her?"

Sperver straightened up, and fixing his gray eye on the Baron:

"And you? What right have you over her?" he asked with a strange smile; "for she is there. I can see her at the back of the cavern. By whose authority do you meddle with our affairs? Do you not know that we are at this moment within the domains of Nideck, and that we administer all forms of justice at our pleasure?"

The young man grew paler yet, and replied shortly:

"I am not accountable to you for any act of mine."

"Take care," replied Sperver; "I am acting in the name of my master, the Count of Nideck, and am but doing my duty. You will have to answer for any interference on your part."

"Your duty!" exclaimed the young man, with a bitter smile; "if you speak of your duty, you may force me to tell you mine."

"Let us hear it," cried the old steward, whose face was becoming discomposed with anger.

"No," returned the Baron, "I will tell you nothing, nor shall you set foot inside this cave."

"We will see about that," said Sperver, advancing towards the cavern.

The young man drew his hunting-knife. Seeing this, I tried to spring between them, when the hound, which I was holding by a leash, shook himself free, throwing me to the ground with the force of the shock. I thought that the Baron was lost; but at the same moment a savage cry rose from the back of the cavern, and as I rose to my feet, I saw the old woman standing upright before the fire, her clothing in rags, her head run forward, and her gray locks scattered about her shoulders, with her long, skinny arms raised towards heaven, and uttering dismal howls, like the cries of the wolf in the cold winter nights, when hunger is gnawing at his entrails.

Never in my life had I witnessed such a frightful spectacle. Sperver, motionless, with his eyes fixed on the strange scene before him, seemed turned to stone. The dog, surprised himself at this unexpected apparition, stood still for a moment, then suddenly arching his bristling back, he flew at the hag with a low growl of fury that made me shudder. The entrance to the cavern was some eight or ten feet above the spot where we stood, or he would have reached it with a single bound. I can hear him still, as he crashes through the frost-laden bushes, and see the Baron fling himself before the old woman with the heart-rending cry:

"My mother!"

Then, as the dog takes his final spring, Sperver, quick as lightning, raises his rifle, and brings down the noble animal dead at the young man's feet. All this was the work of an instant. The gorge was momentarily lighted by the rifle flash, and the echoes, taking up the noise of the explosion, carried it roaring and tumbling to the infinite depths of the neighboring crags.

When the smoke cleared away, I saw LieverlÉ lying stretched out at the foot of the rock, and the old woman fainting in the arms of the young man. Sperver eyed the Baron gloomily, as he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, his features working with rage and grief.

"Baron," he said, pointing to the cave, "I have killed my best friend to save the woman whom you call your mother. You may thank God that her destiny was bound up with that of my master. Take her away from here. Take her far away, and let her never return; for, if she does, I cannot answer for myself."

Then, glancing at his dog:

"My poor LieverlÉ!" he cried; "was this to be the outcome of our long years of friendship? Come, Gaston, let us hurry away from this accursed spot. I might do something I should regret afterwards."

Seizing his horse's mane, he started to throw himself into his saddle, but suddenly his heart swelled to bursting, and dropping his head on his horse's neck, he wept like a child.